A Small Thought About Me And You
by InspireRebelLoveTravelLiveKnow
Summary: Matthieu doesn't know that his father killed his mother. Arthur doesn't know that his true love is a murderer. Alfred doesn't know his love intrest is a sex slave and Francis doesn't know what Alfred knows. Lets see who can save who, da? FrUK, US/Can


**Okay! Lets get this straight. **

Story

"talking"

'thoughts'

_flashbacks_

(translation)

**authors notes**

**simple enough, da? This was a spur-of-the-moment idea, so I'm sorry if its weak, but…. Enjoy~ (BTW, Russia, I did FrUK for you (and USCan for me…))**

It was an average day. The sun shined like a streetlamp over the all-famous Eiffel Tower. Francis sat looking out, with his youthful child in his lap. He brushed through his son's light blonde hair to perfection, where it fell around his face to give him an extra-angelic glow. The infant wasn't loud, he wasn't rambunctious, and he was distinguished and pleasant. He allowed his busy father to do all his work, hoping that one day he would be just as accomplished as the man. He didn't know anything of his father's past, and his father planned to keep it that way.

"Francis~" His young wife called out to him, carrying their day-old son in her arms like it was the most delicate thing in the world. Well, technically the small baby was, to the two young parents. Mathieu stared up at his young mother with wide violet eyes.

"_Oui?" Francis called back, sharpening his knife. His plan had to be carried out now, or it wouldn't ever be. he walked around and slipped behind his wife, taking the baby and placing him on the near-by couch. He closed his eyes and whispered a quiet apology as he slipped the knife across her calf, where he knew a vital vein was located. He then cut his own arm open and ran to get the telephone. A quick call to the police, and his wife would be dead, and a man named Jacques would be in prison. He really didn't need his wife other than to have his child, and now he did. _

He smiled softly, kissing the toddler's head softly. "Vous ne rencontrerez jamais ta mère. Mais je serai toujours là pour vous, Matthieu." (You will never meet your mother. But I will always be here for you, Matthew.) the boy looked up at him with sparkling violet eyes and asked "où est-elle?" (Where is she?) the man simply shook his head, telling the boy it was not for his ears yet, and that he would learn in time. The boy nodded, being naïve and calm, having faith and trust in his father. He never knew that the man was simply using him for his satisfaction. Someday, this boy would be nothing but Francis Bonnefoy's personal toy. For now, he would grow up learning that all Francis told him was right, was true. For now, he would remain innocent.

KOLKOLKOL

Rain. He hated rain. Why did he have to live in London? He rested his head on the palm of his hand, staring out the window, across the street. A French family had just moved in and the kid was pretty good looking. Plus, he had a perfect view of the boy getting changed, due to the fact of them allowing the boy the room in the attic, which had no blinds. He watched hungrily as the boy slipped into a pair of red pajamas, which looked like silk. Man, he wanted to run his fingers across that silk shirt and slowly unbutton it, watching the other boy's face heat up delectably and… Wait, he wasn't gay. 'damn it, Alfred. You aren't gay. Heroes aren't gay, remember?' he sighed, wondering when his father would decide to go over and meet the new neighbors.

"ALFRED!" the shrill yell came from down the stairs. So his father had decided now, 8:30 at night would be a good time.

"COMING IGGY!" he yelled back, using the name he'd been using for 15 years, ever since he learned to talk.

"YOU WILL CALL ME FATHER! NOW MAKE YOURSELF PRESENTABLE AND COME DOWN HERE!" he rolled his eyes, mouthing the words as his father yelled them. He had heard that about…. What, a MILLION times in the past month? He slipped on a superman t-shirt and jeans, not caring that his dad was probably going to kill him, and his old bomber jacket they bought when they took a trip to America. He had picked up the accent and everything, because, to put it simply, he freaking LOVED that country. Whatever. He had a to go meet his new hot neighbor, I mean, new neighbor. Yeah. That's it. He trudged down the stairs, ignoring his father's bushy-browed glare.

"lets go, before I fall asleep." The Englishman fumed at the tone of voice he was receiving from his son, but sipped a cup of tea to calm himself. He put the small cup down and followed his son (who was abnormally taller than him) out of the house. He lectured the boy about different things on the way to the house across the street and finished with a simple "and tie your boot, you twat." The boy leaned down to tie the show as the door opened to reveal a Frenchman about Arthur's age. He winked at the Englishman, whose face quickly heated up. This was going to be a LONG night, wasn't it?

**Like I said, spur-of-the-moment….**

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